


Curse of Strahd: The adventures of the Castillon Crew

by Mamshiba101



Category: Curse of Strahd - Fandom, Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Dark Comedy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Found Family, Gen, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Gore, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27307558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mamshiba101/pseuds/Mamshiba101
Summary: This is the novelization of the Curse of Strahd campaign my friends and I are doing! A satanic warrior, a holy monk, a kind hearted thief, a fiery soldier, a timid druid, and a curious sorceress end up getting stuck in the pocket dimension of Barovia. Tasked with defeating the ruler of this land, "the Devil" Strahd Von Zarovitch, they set out on a dark path that none of them could have anticipated. What could possibly go wrong?
Kudos: 2





	Curse of Strahd: The adventures of the Castillon Crew

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Like I said, this is the novelization I'm making of the Curse of Strahd campain I'm currently part of. The campaign is ongoing and updates will rely on my motivation and how good my session notes are for a given session, but this is a little taste of what's in store. All of these characters are from a custom world our DM made, I may post the map in this chapter at a later time, once I have computer access. Right now everyone is in the City of Melchor, a roguish city that's partially undergound and filled with a variety of races. Several character speak with accents that are common in other cities from this world, a Melchrian accent is equivalent to a Scottish accent, a Halfestian accent is equivalent to a Russian/Slavic accent, and an Ithorian accent is equivalent to a British accent, so Saman's dialoge would sound Slavic and Naivera's would sound British. Enjoy!

Saman Frosthammer wandered through the streets of Melchor, looking for somewhere to settle in for the night. It was growing dark and he knew better than to camp out in a place like Melchor. It was a vast city that lay partially underground, filled to the brim with people looking for a fight. Of course, most people in Melchor would probably know better than to mess with someone who looked like him, but better safe than sorry.  
Unaffected by the winter winds, he quickly made his way through winding side streets to what seemed to be a charming little tavern. A wooden sign hung above the door, with text reading: The Dancing Sword, and a small carving of what seemed to be a drunken sword spinning beside it. The handiwork wasn't bad. He could really go for some soup on a cool night like this, it had been far too long since he had a home cooked meal.

  
~

  
Chelsca could smell the stench of sin long before she entered the tavern itself. She had been told that Melchor was a lawless, brutish city, but it was even worse than she expected. It was a vast cesspool of all sorts of criminals and unholy creatures. Just 30 minutes ago, she had been minding her business trying to convert a human merchant girl when a pair of goblins broke into a fistfight over one of the girl’s wares! And worse, the girl cheered them on! She managed to break up the foul creatures fight, but was appalled by how common an occurrence it seemed to be, given nobody else around them so much as bat an eye at the squabble.  
She had decided to begin winding her work down for the day after that so she could find herself and her beloved Pernix some righteous food and shelter; after all, night had already fallen and she didn’t trust the townsfolk to be accomodating given the sheer number of lesser races in Melchor. Chelsca had made her way to the side of town closer to the surface, which seemed far more welcoming and refined than the kenku infested maze of the lower city.  
Entering the first tavern she happened upon, the dancing...something or other, Chelsca found herself surrounded by a veritable melting pot of races. She avoided meeting the eyes of several goblins and even worse, tieflings as she made her way to the bar. At least no one was fighting in here. In fact, the patrons seemed much more tame and joyus than the residents she had encountered earlier in the day. If only they had any idea how joyus their hearts would feel if they accepted the light of Amaunator into their lives.  
“Good evening, miss! Can I get you anything?” Lost in her holy musings, Chelsca failed to notice the dwarf woman, likely a barmaid or something, until she stood in front of her. Chelsca wasn't very fond of dwarves for a number of reasons, but this woman seemed amicable despite her race. Yes, she would be good enough.  
“Yes, I would very much appreciate a glass of your holiest beverage! One for my partner as well.” She said, gesturing to Pernix.  
The dwarf woman seemed to pause for a moment, as if lost in thought. Chelsca couldn't blame her, she doubted that people holy as herself came here often.  
“I believe what you want would be goodberry juice? We normally sell goodberry wine but I assume alcohol isn't exactly holy.”  
“Yes, yes, that will be sufficient. Many thanks my good barmaid.” Chelsca then proceeded to ignore everyone around her, including the dwarf woman’s distant “I'm actually the owner of this tavern”, instead contemplating how to redeem the many sinners in around her.

  
~

  
Melcha really wished she had more cash on her right about now. She had forgotten this place had some damn good booze, and wished that she had brought enough money to get decently sloshed. Of course, getting drunk wasn't nearly as fun when it was just her, but the resident alcoholic of her little group had up and disappeared a week or two prior. She’d have to bring Dai here once they came back from wherever the fuck they went, on their coin of course.  
The more she thought about it, a few of her friends had dropped off the map recently. Minla and Keothi still hadn't come back from that “quick mission” they mentioned a few days back.  
Eh, they were all pretty strong and had (mostly) good heads on their shoulders, so she didn't have anything to worry about.

  
Probably.

  
Besides, Zorriar made good company, even if he was a gremlin. Melcha forced herself to stare at the cool lamp at the bar-side table she was sitting at to stop herself from looking at the door as if her friends would come barreling in any moment now.  
The lamp was made of colored glass, or something like that, in the image of the night sky.

It was real cool.

Yep.

It sure was a nice lamp.

Gave off light and everything.

Pretty blue tinted light.

Maybe if she stared into the cool lamp long enough she could find something else to think about.

  
Ok, maybe staring directly into light was a bad call on her part cause her eyes fucking hurt now. She needed another drink.

  
~

  
Ember Iratus entered the tavern seeking 2 things: information and chocolate milk. One of those was much more pressing than the other, but taverns had served the Lieutenant well in the past as information hubs.  
They had been sent to Melchor to investigate a series of strange and unexplained disappearances that seemed to be tied to some kind of foreign circus. They had arrived several hours ago, and intended to start gathering leads as soon as possible.  
Almost immediately after entering, Ember noticed an angry looking old man at the bar, loudly talking to an older woman. About what, they didn't know, but a little eavesdropping wouldn't hurt. They made their way to the bar as inconspicuous as possible, sitting next to a young woman with curly white hair. Some kind of falcon sat perched on her shoulder, but neither acknowledged the genasi’s presence, silently sharing a glass of dark liquid. That couldn’t be sanitary.  
“Im tellin’ ya Gerla, it's the apocalypse! Donna said so!” Yelled the old man. He seemed to be some kind of farmer judging by his clothes. He sat several seats away, half climbing over the bar to yell at a very exasperated dwarf woman, who they assumed was Gerla. It appeared that she had dealt with this customer many times before, perhaps she was the owner?  
“Your goat says the apocalypse is coming? I'm cutting you off for the night old man Flannigan, you've had too much.”  
“I swear it's true! She says there's werewolves, Gerla! Werewolves, right here in Melchor!” The man sputtered, each exclamation accompanied by a wild hand motion. “It's gotta be that carnival that brought ‘em in, they've been nothing but trouble since they came! They must've been the ones bothering my Donna a few nights back. What's the world comin’ to when a man can't even let his goat out for a midnight walk in peace without worryin’ about some killer werewolves or rabble-rousing carnies? It’s gotta be the apocalypse!”  
Werewolves? A carnival? This lead was proving surprisingly useful. They'd keep their mouth shut for now, the old coot seemed to be on a roll. Before long though, they were approached by a young half elf waitress who seemed to be giving the old man the stink eye.  
“Sorry about him…” She said, immediately shifting into a customer service smile. “Since my mother is...occupied at the moment, I can take your order.”  
“I’ll take a grilled cheese and a chocolate milk.” So she was the daughter of the potential tavern keeper. Not much resemblance, obviously. Notably though, she had a distinctly Ithorian accent, whereas her mother spoke with a slight Melchrian accent, which Ember found somewhat strange.  
“Would you like that spiked?” She said, unsubtly looking back and forth between Ember and the still raving old man Flannigan.  
“I think I would. Rum, if you please.”  
“I’ll have that you for you in just a minute.” The girl said, immediately going back into the stink eye as she walked past Gerla to go into the kitchen.  
“EhHEM” The woman to Ember’s right cleared her voice very loudly. “I just thought I should say that partaking in alcohol and tainting such a drink is quite unholy and both I and Amanator disapprove of your behavior.”  
“...Ok.”  
Seemingly either satisfied by this answer or oblivious, the woman and her bird went back to ignoring them, noses pointed upward. Ember didn’t even know you could train a falcon to look smug.

  
~

  
Bryn sat at the far end of a long table, sipping her tea and trying to look as un-threatening as possible to all the threatening people around her. What did the server woman call it again? Sham-o-maile? Whatever it was, it was quite good! Unlike back at home where they often put the leaves in straight, this tea came already crushed up and put into a thin little bag, likely to avoid ingesting the leaves accidentally. How quaint!  
Actually, wait, she had more important things to think about than the advancements other cities had made in tea consumption. She had come all this way to Melchor for a reason after all...she should be on the lookout for a competent healer.  
Bryn began trying to scan the tavern for someone who looked like a cleric, failing to notice the raised eyebrows that came with her staring people down. First, there was the lone dwarf man who sat on the opposite end of her table. He looked strong, and he had some kind of energy coming from him, but it didn't seem very holy. Also, he was kinda scary and spooked Cassia, which was why she was so far away from him in the first place. She should probably look somewhere else.  
Most of the other patrons were grouped around tables, their backs turned to her. That wasn’t exactly helpful, and since it would be awkward interrupting a group, Bryn decided to look for people who seemed to be at the tavern by themselves. Only one person sat at the table to her right, a hooded figure accompanied by a very cute looking flying cat. Bryn could make out very little of the person’s appearance, but noticed as they gave their flying cat a sip of her drink (could cats safely drink alcohol?) that their skin seemed to be...purple?  
Before Bryn had a chance to properly process that, the old man that had been yelling about the apocalypse the whole time she’d been here turned his sights on the hooded person.  
“Nyeah! You there! Yes you, with the hood and the funky cat! You look like you've got some muscle on you, you’ll help me out, won't you missy?”  
“Depends...how much are you gonna pay me?”  
“Oh-ho! I’ll pay ya alright!” He stretched his arms out wide, yelling to the tavern this time “I’ll pay a hundred gold to any traveler willin’ to help me and my Donna by investigating those carnies and stoppin’ those werewolves!”  
A hundred gold? That was definitely a lot, given what she had, but it seemed the folks around her were more excited at the prospect than she was.  
“You've got a deal, old man!” Said the hooded woman.  
“Great! Yes, thank you missy! Now if we just gather a party- oh! Gerla, you’ll let me gather a search party with the fine folks here, wont’cha?” The old man scuttled to the dwarf woman at the bar, hands clasped together.  
“...Oh fine.” She said, after a moment’s pause. “We’ll try to provide rooms for whoever you find, but just for tonight, you hear? And don't provoke the customers if they say no!”  
“Oh thank you Gerla, i'm in your debt!”  
“I wonder how many times you've said that to me over the years…”  
Seemingly ignoring Gerla at this point, the old man turned to the person sitting closest to them, a few seats to his right at the bar. They looked rather intimidating, wearing a full set red armor with a sword and shield strapped to their back.  
“Ah, you! Red feller! You seem like you know your way around an investigation, will ya’ help me?”  
“...Yes, I will lend you my services. I will have to decline your money though, I am a soldier and have no right to take from the citizens.” From what Bryn could make out of their face, they seemed to be missing their right eye and had reddish skin. It almost looked as if their long ponytail was on fire from the way it moved, but Bryn chalked it up to her mind playing tricks on her.  
“Well, good sir, I would also like to humbly offer my service to you! I am Chelsca, and on behalf of the sun soul monks, it would be an honor to help you and Donna in your hour of need!”  
Before Bryn had even noticed, the woman sitting next to the red person had lept from her stool to kneel dramatically in front of the old man. She had bright white hair that puffed out around her, and her large yellow cape seemed to have some kind of holy symbol on it. Could she know a healer?  
“And of course, as a proud woman of faith I need not your generous payment, just the knowledge of a good deed done!”  
“Oh...uh, great! Thanks missy, it's much appreciated, but...uh, you can stand up now…”  
With that, the white haired woman, Chelsca, sat back down at her stool, looking very pleased with herself. The old man began to scan the rest of the tavern, and before long locked eyes with Bryn herself, who all of a sudden felt rather guilty for staring.  
“Hey you! With the little deer! Yes, yes, you look quite woods-y, will you come with us?”  
“Oh! Um...yes, I can help you! I'm skilled in tracking, so hopefully I can be of some use…”  
“Perfect! Now if we can just-”  
But before Bryn had a chance to regret agreeing to chase werewolves, and before the old man even finished his sentence, a young, imposing looking woman came bursting through the doors of the tavern, pale as a sheet.  
“HELP! OLD MAN!” She yelled, pushing past tables of startled patrons until she was within feet of the old man that had been recruiting them.  
“Old man Flannigan...you were right…” She said, panting. “My brother...we think the werewolves got him.”

  
~

  
Naivera Dûnhark was having an interesting night. Mordai had been missing in action for a few days, so she and her mother had to split the bartending between them while they did their normal tasks. It wasn't a big deal, but the patrons who sat at the bar always tended to be odd folks to say the least. One of those odd folks, Old man Flannigan, had been mumbling to himself for roughly half an hour before her mother had the misfortune of asking him what he was talking about, and he had been ranting and raving at her since. Then the man decided to form a search party out of the weirdest and shadiest characters in the entire building, and now Damia Henderson, the freaking mayor’s daughter of all people was here, saying there're werewolves in Melchor and calling the old man a prophet. Speaking of old man Flannigan, the man currently seemed like he was mentally going back and forth between feeling bad about the disappearance of Damia’s brother, and feeling smug at being proven right this one time.  
“Ah...im, uh, sorry to hear about that miss Henderson.”  
“No, don't be...it's us who's sorry now...we should've listened to you while we had the chance, now my brother’s…”  
“Perhaps you should sit down, yes?” The ominous looking dwarf who had been keeping to himself ever since she served him some stew had apparently stood and walked to meet Damia while Naivera wasn’t looking, offering her the chair opposite the timid looking elf girl. He had the thickest Halfestian accent she had heard in her life. “You seem rather...overwhelmed. Best to sit and collect your thoughts.”  
“Yes...you're right, thank you.” Said Damia, sitting down and catching her breath before speaking again.  
“Several days ago, this man, Mr. Henderson came to my family’s doorstep and tried desperately to tell us about the werewolf sightings around Melchor until we threatened to call the authorities to make him leave. Foolishly, neither me, my father nor my brother believed a word he said. Thinking it was some kind of prank, my father sent my brother to inspect the carnival, and he hasn't been seen since. The last account of him we could find was from one of the people at the carnival, who claimed he went into a nearby forest to chase after the werewolves two nights ago.”  
“That was until earlier today. The same man from the carnival we had spoken to came to our house not more than an hour ago in a panic. He had found a scrap of paper that read ‘HELP’ at the entrance to the forest my brother took. It was rather sloppy, but it seemed to be his handwriting, like he was in a rush, or in some great danger. I fear he faced the werewolves woefully unprepared, we should've sent the militia with him...or at least a few mercenaries...to think we sent him to such a dangerous situation on his own…”  
“Miss Henderson, was it?” Said the dwarf man. “You say that he has only been missing a’few days, yes? In that case, it is very likely that he is still alive, or at least traceable from where he last was.”  
“You think so?”  
“Yes. I cannot promise that he is unharmed, or even alive, but if you want to find him it would be best to begin the search soon.”  
“If that's the case, a search party should be made as soon as possible.” She stood, and opened her mouth to speak before being lightly tapped on the shoulder by the old man’s walking stick.  
“Actually, I was kinda formin’ a party of travelers here to investigate the werewolves! I bet they wouldn’t mind keepin’ an eye out for your brother, would’ja fellers?” He said, glancing at the people he had roped into this mess encouragingly.  
“But of course!” Said the woman with the beauty mark and the large bird, practically beaming with pride. The hooded woman that sat at her own table let out a “Why not?” and the armored genasi at the bar simply nodded in response. The elf girl, for her part, nodded somewhat anxiously and tried to give a reassuring smile.  
“If it is all the same to you, I think I would like to join your little monster hunt as well. I'd be more than happy to offer some extra muscle should we encounter one of these werewolves.” Said the dwarf. He certainly looked like the type, given his build and armor.  
“Thank you, all of you. I am in your debt. Should you succeed in finding or...recovering by brother, the Henderson family will be at your disposal.”  
Naivera doubted half the people involved knew how much of a deal that was, given most seemed to be outsiders unfamiliar with Melchor, but they seemed content with the statement regardless. The conversation dissolved into a series of smaller groups after that, with Damia being basically interrogated by the two at the bar, and old man Flannigan doing his best to explain the sightings to the dwarf man. Naivera took the opportunity to slip back behind the bar and approach her mother.  
“Hey, mother...would you be alright if I went along with them? This whole werewolf thing has got me kind of curious.” It had been quite some time since she had done much outside of the city, and her magic had been making her restless.  
“Oh Naivy, I knew you’d ask me that!” She said, with a knowing smile. “It's been a few years since you got to do anything outside of Melchor, hasn't it? After all of my years spent traveling I have no right to keep you from a little adventure, now do I?”  
“Thank you mother.” Naivera said, bending down to kiss her on the cheek. “Are you sure you and the others will be able to handle things here without me?”  
“Of course we will, don't you worry about a thing dear! Just...try to be careful, won't you? I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you…”  
“You'd drag me back from hell yourself, that's what you'd do.” She said with a chuckle. “But don't worry about me mother, you know I can take care of myself.”  
Standing up straight again, Naivera turned to old man Flannigan, who had by then stopped talking to the dwarf man. “If you don't mind, I think I would like to come along with your group as well. Im quite curious about all this werewolf buisness.”  
The old man shot forward to shake her hand. “Well, thats great miss Dûnhark-”  
“If!” She said, shaking her hand free. “If you agree to stop bothering my mother, I'll gladly help you. You've talked her ear off more hours than I can count, and although you were right this time, I don't want to see you bugging her about every little bump in the night anymore. Understand?”  
“Ah, I understand. I won't bother Gerla any more. It's good to have you along though!”  
“That reminds me, do any of you travelers need a place to stay for the night?” Said her mother, vaguely gesturing at the people who had gathered around the bar. “My daughter and I live on the second floor of this building, but the top floor has a few rooms we can offer you. Since our friend Garim is in one of them, some of you will probably have to double up, if you’re alright with that.”  
“I don't mind being with anyone, as long as they don't mind me.” Said the hooded woman.  
“Um, I don't mind rooming with anyone either, whatever works best for you!” Piped the elf girl.  
“If it's all the same to you, I think I will seek lodging elsewhere.” Said the armored genasi, standing to leave. “When do you want us to set out, old man?”  
“Eh, maybe around seven, seven thirty in the morning? And we can meet in front of the entrance to the tavern.”  
“Works for me.” They said, promptly exiting the tavern without even giving their name.  
“Well, if that's the case, we have enough room for you two to have your own little rooms. Is that alright with everyone?” Her mother said to the white haired woman and the dwarf man.  
“Yes, that is fine, thank you for your hospitalit-”  
“That would be perfect, good bar maiden.” Spoke the white haired woman, cutting off the dwarf. “I would much prefer to have my own room rather than rub shoulders with heretics and criminals!” She unsubtly looked at the hooded woman before sticking her nose in the air.”  
“Uh….sure sweetie.” Said her mother, vaguely uncomfortable. “I can show you folks up to your rooms if you're finished down here.” The other three accepted and finished whatever they had left before going upstairs with her mother. Lucky for her, the white haired woman stayed at the bar and began to stare at Naivera.  
“Can I help you?”  
“You're a half elf, correct?” She said, looking at her intently. That definitely wasn't what she was expecting her to say.  
“Um...yes. I am half wood elf. Is that important to you or…?”  
“Yes, it's very important. I generally try to avoid having...ahem...lesser races handle my food whenever possible, but seeing as you're a dignified half elf, there should be no issues. I would like some more of this righteous juice, and some meat for Pernix here.” She said gesturing to the falcon on her shoulder.  
Oh sweet merciful gods she’s one of those. Naivera had met plenty of clerics, monks, paladins, and normal people who followed gods, and nearly all of them were pleasant enough. But every once in a long while she encountered someone who’s god, or who’s teachings, led them to violent discrimination. She thought it was a load of steaming shite, but couldn't exactly state that to a paying customer.  
“How would you like that cooked?” She said, in a gritted customer service smile.  
“By hand, if you will. Oh, and do you happen to know if the person who killed this rabbit was religious or not? If they aren't I’ll have to ask you to kill one by hand and cook it.”  
“You want me...to go outside right now...catch a rabbit...and hand roast it for your bird?”  
“Actually, he’s a falcon. And his name is Pernix.”  
“Right...well, I believe the butcher who we purchased this rabbit from is a perfectly fine person, a very nice human couple.” In reality, they bought most of their meat from a kenku butcher associated with the shovel, but she didn't need to know that. 

“That is good to hear. Amaunator’s teachings are strict against sinners and non-believers, so I try to associate with them as little as possible. It’s what the Light of the Law would want after all.”  
Amaunator, huh? That same sounded quite familiar...ah yes, it must be that sun deity. Some months back, a small party of holy people stayed for the night before continuing their mission work. They had talked her ear off for quite some time, and wore runes similar to this woman. She remembered he was a lawful deity, and that he’s most commonly followed in Rimnel. She couldn't remember what exactly he presides over though, as she was smiling and nodding more than actually listening. That's what she was trying to do here, but this woman was unfortunately too fussy and overbearing for her to get away with it.  
“I'm going to go and cook that rabbit for...Pernix now.” She said, trying to flee from the incoming religious rant as soon as possible. She prepared the rabbit meat and put it on the grill they usually used -a bird wouldn't know the difference between how it’s meat was cooked anyway- before walking back out several minutes later.  
“Here’s your goodberry juice and your...hand cooked rabbit. Enjoy.”  
Naivera swiftly walked away from the bar before the woman had the chance to thank her, quickly muttering that she had other customers to attend to, despite the fact that things were dwindling down for the night. The rest of the evening went smoothly after that and both woman and bird went upstairs not long after. After closing the tavern up Naivera laid in bed for several hours, caught between restlessness and getting a good night’s sleep, but kept awake by a strange warm feeling coming from her tattoo.

  
~

  
The sun rose too early for everyone’s liking the next morning, but they all came down to the tavern by 6:30, in varying stages of awakeness. Gerla and Naivera offered breakfast to anyone who wanted it, including a new figure none of the others had seen before. He had stumbled down the stairs and immediately sat at the nearest barstool, slumped over the bar itself.  
He was a human man who seemed to be on the older side, with a few gray hairs in his unkempt blonde hair. Little else could be seen of him, seeing as he was face down on hardwood. Bryn thought he looked very tired. Melcha correctly recognized that he was hungover as fuck, having dealt with Dai, and herself, many times after a night of getting utterly pounded.  
“Well then, since he doesn't seem to keen on being a polite adult at the moment…” Gerla said, half yelling the latter part in the man’s face as she placed a plate of toast in front of him. “...I guess i’ll have to introduce him! This is Garim Braxton, he’s been a close friend of the family since the war. I promise that he’s usually quite the gentleman, but it seems he took it a little too hard last night to grace us with some pleasantries, hm?”  
Still face down, Garim gave an incoherent mumble in response that sounded something like “mhsssms...sryy...grla”  
“I accept your apology.” Gerla said, seemingly well versed enough in gibberish to understand what he said. “But this is the fifth time this month you've done this Garim, and the month’s barely a week old. You're not getting any booze from me today!”  
This comment seemed to make it through to Garim, as he almost immediately shot up his head in disbelief. “What? C'mon Gerla, ya can't do this te me!” He had a very thick Melchrian accent.  
“Oh yes I can! You're supposed to be a scholar Garim, not a barfly!”  
“B-but Gerla ah-”  
“No buts! I'm cutting you off for the rest of the week.” She said, quickly shifting her expression back to bright and cheery as she turned to the rest of the party. “You lovely folks are welcome to whatever you wish though, i’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything!”  
And with that, she disappeared into the bowels of the tavern, and the party was left in an awkward silence. After a few moments, Naivera checked behind her shoulder to make sure Gerla had gone far enough away to miss what she was about to do, and then swiftly poured Garim a glass of chocolate milk with a shot of rum mixed in.  
“Thank ye Naivy!” Garim said, gratefully taking the glass and chugging it. “Ye’ve always been so good to yer uncle Garim, ah don’t know how i’ll squeeze through Gerla without you.”  
“Consider it a parting gift. Good luck trying to shmooze Mordai though. More importantly…” Naivera tapped Garim’s on the shoulder and pointed her eyebrows suggestively in the direction of Saman, who was sitting at the opposite end of the bar.  
“Ah….Naivy, I could never...n’ besides, I'm too old tah do that kind ah thing.”  
“I wasn't insinuating anything, just letting you know” Naivera said, giving him a quick wink before walking over to her own food.  
Most of the party was either unbothered by this interaction, or had not been paying attention. Everyone, except for Chelsca who had apparently been listening in quite attentively, and now looked like she had just been slapped. From a young age she had learned that some races in this world are simply on a different level from others, some are just born into this world more or less righteous. Mixing between these races almost exclusively resulted in offspring even more unholy than their parents, a dangerous prospect for an already too-sinful world. Now she was being made to bear witnesses to the incinuation of not just race mixing...but homosexual race mixing? It was more than the monk could bear at such an early hour.  
“May Amanator forgive those sinners who mix between the races.”  
Chelsca had meant to say this under her breath (she should at least try to get along with these people after all), but due to the quietness of the room and the fact that it came out much louder than intended, it soon became clear that everyone had heard what she said. Like, everyone everyone. The 5 other people in the room turned their heads to her at varying speeds, and she tried desperately to ignore the stares burning into her skull.  
“Miss, you do realize that I'm the direct product of race mixing, yes?” Naivera said, hand on her chin. “I seem to remember you calling me ‘dignified’ last night…”  
“Yes...I did say that,” Chelsca said, somewhat flustered. “But I am not against occasional mixing between the greater races, its just when races like dwarves and halflings and- oh Amanator forbid tieflings decide to mate-”  
“Oh ho, is little miss monk going to lecture us about the horrors of race mixing?” Said Melcha, one hand at her brow and the other at her collar, as if clutching a string of pearls. “Better bring your nose down from the sky and look at us straight if you're gonna preach to us. Or wait, are we too lowly for you to stand the burden of looking us in the eye?”  
“You're not- I never said...I'm just trying to state my beliefs!” Chelsca said, increasingly more desperate and ironically enough, louder with every word.  
“What's all this racket out here?” Gerla returned from the kitchen door with a plate of bacon, having apparently heard part of the argument from the other room.  
“I was just saying that I-”  
“Miss high and mighty here was just educating us lesser races about how dangerous and scary race mixers are!”  
“Is that right?” Gerla said, eyes narrowing at Chelsca, who seemed less apt to defend herself under the dwarf’s disapproving gaze. “Well...we don't exactly tolerate that kind of talk around these parts, or at least I don't allow it in my tavern. Everyone's welcome here so long as they don't cause trouble, so I’d suggest you keep your opinions to yourself until you walk out of those doors.”  
“Yes ma'am...I'll uh, do that.” Chelsca said, now thoroughly embarrassed at being scolded by a woman nearly four feet shorter than her, and somewhat regretting her choice of words in hindsight. She aggressively stared down into her toast, vaguely resenting the hooded woman for making such a big deal out of it.  
Melcha, for her part, was trying to stifle a laugh as she watched the monk’s face scrunch up like a prune. She let out a quiet “That’s what you get for being a bitch” in Infernal, having thought better about openly insulting her now that the owner was back.  
Behind her, Saman perked his head up at the phrase, chuckling to himself and filing the fact that another member of the party could speak infernal away for later. This was going to be an interesting day.

  
~  
Half an hour later, the ragtag party gathered themselves together and said their goodbyes before exiting the tavern, bringing Naivera’s donkey Anwin along at her insistence. Ember was already waiting for them outside of the entrance, acknowledging their presence with a brisk “morning”. Not long after, old Man Flannigan came to meet them and began to lead them to the outskirts of the city, where the camp supposedly was. The sun began to rise over the trees just as they entered the section of Melchor that sat entirely above ground.  
“Should be a little less than an hour to the campsite, these streets can be a little hard ta’ navigate, but lucky for you folks, I know this city like the back of ma’ hand!” Said the old man, nearly tripping on the cobble as he turned to speak to the party.  
“Right…well as long as you know where we're going” Saman said, walking up to the front of the party as a precaution.  
After a good twenty minutes of walking in relative silence, occasionally interrupted by Old man Flannigan rambling about a location they passed, Bryn nervously piped her voice up  
“I was thinking…if we're going on this werewolf hunting adventure together, we should probably introduce ourselves so we can…um...know who we're fighting with?  
“Good idea missy! I probably shoulda asked you all that m’self before I went and hired all of you but better late than never!”  
“Well, my name is Bryn, and I'm a druid from Oueldon. This here is Cassia, she’s my little deer friend.” Bryn gestured to the fawn walking beside her.  
“Aww, she’s cute!” Naivera said, bending down to let Cassia sniff her hand. “My name is Naivera Dûnhark, and i'm a sorceress. The tavern keeper, Gerla is my mother. You've all already met Anwin here, he’s on the older side but he’s sturdy enough to carry whatever you need him too.” Anwin, as if he knew he was being praised, let out a very pleased sounding hee-haw.  
“I am called Chelsca, and I am a proud sun-soul monk of a Rimnel monestary. I worship the great Amaunator, keeper of the eternal sun and light of the law. My companion here is Pernix, one of Amaunator’s favored falcons, and together we strive to spread his holy word across this sinful land.” Chelsca paused, as if expecting some kind of intrigue or praise, but received none.  
“...That is nice dear.” Saman said, after a too-long pause. “I am Saman Frosthammer, you could call me a kind of wandering warrior ye? I am used to this kind of job, so I can handle my own well enough.”  
“I'm Melcha, you could call me a sort of rogue. I live in Melchor.” Seeing as they had already exited the city proper, Melcha figured it would be safe to pull down her hood, if for nothing else than the look on the monk’s face. She pulled down her black hood, revealing her bright purple skin, pure gold eyes, and large curling horns.  
“I’m one of those filthy tieflings miss saint over here was ranting about earlier.” Melcha relished in the sound of Chelsca audibly gasping as she turned around to look at her, repulsed. Every once in a while, Melcha enjoyed the fact that her mere existence pissed people off, and this was definitely one of those times.  
“Ah, that makes sense-“  
“A tiefling!” Chelsca said, cutting Saman off as if the word itself had done her some great offence. “I just knew there was something off about you! And naturally, you seem to be a criminal, though I can't say I expected more from your kind...I’ll keep a tight watch on my wallet, thank you very much!”  
“As if you could beat me when it comes to sleight of hand…” Melcha said under her breath. Fortunately, the monk didn't hear her this time, as she seemed busy looking down on the rest of the party for not being repulsed by her. She meant that both literally and figuratively, as Chelsca was nearly two feet taller than both her and Bryn, had at least a foot on Naivera and the red one, and Saman...was a dwarf.

Surprisingly, no one else in the party seemed to have any issue with her, which was definitely nice. Hell, Naivera even told her she thought her horns were “pretty” after Chelsca had finally calmed down, which was an interesting experience given they were usually used to compare her to hellspawn or devils.  
Some time after Chelsca had calmed down and the conversation had gone quiet again, Bryn tapped on the shoulder of the person in full plate armor, who had yet to introduce themselves.  
“Um...excuse me...what's your name?”  
They flicked their one eye down in Bryn’s direction and stared for a moment as if considering their response (though to Bryn it looked as if they were staring her down) before simply saying “Ember” and then continuing on as if that was all they would ever want to know about them.  
As far as Ember was concerned, that was all they would need to know about them. If the others could tell they were a fire genasi or a soldier they were free to blab all they wanted, but they were on a mission and couldn't care less about getting buddy buddy with these people.  
“Ember…?” The elf said, fishing for anything more.  
“Just Ember. I'm afraid anything more than that's classified.”  
“Oh...um, that's fine…” She said, deflating somewhat.  
A short time later, they finally arrived at the infamous carnival. It was contained within a large red and white striped tent, the top of which grazed the treeline. The faint sound of drums and other musical instruments could be heard from a ways outside. At the old man’s encouragement, the party entered, leaving Anwin parked outside near some brightly dressed horses tied to a tree.  
Inside the tent itself was a number of different attractions. To their left was an assortment of peddlers and merchants selling their wares. To their right various attractions stood to entertain visitors, though none of them were being operated at the moment, seeing as it wasn't even noon. Three barrel topped wagons were dispersed around the area at odd angles, as if moved somewhat hastily after the crowds had left the night before. Peppered around the tent were campfires surrounded by people who seemed to be in much better spirits than one would think victims of werewolves to be; singing, dancing and playing foreign looking instruments around the fire.  
Not too far away from them were two men who seemed to be in an intense discussion. One was older, wearing what appeared to be very colorful mage’s robes. The more well traveled among the party could tell the clothing was not native to their continent of Castillon. The other was a younger man, who although dressed more modestly than his older counterpart was still visibly not from the area.

Melcha took this opportunity to do what she does best, fading into the shadows to eavesdrop before the rest of the party could even know she was gone. The rest of the party stayed where they were, trying to work out the best course of action.  
As Melcha crept closer into the camp, she grew closer to the colorful pair of men, who seemed to be talking about some fairly serious business.  
“Listen, we don't have much time...it's been three days and she hasn't come back yet. Im worried.” Said the younger looking man, wringing his hands.  
“She will be alright my son, we’ve done this plenty of times and your sister is strong. You worry too much.” The older man patted the man who seemed to be his son on the shoulder. He spoke with a very strange accent and was dressed like a fruitcake, but she had more important things to be on the lookout for than family disputes, and slid off towards the attractions as the two continued to converse, seemingly going in circles.  
The rest of the party could overhear bits and pieces of this conversation from where they were standing, it wasn't like they were really trying to hide it, but none had made any moves to interrupt the two. None save for old man Flannigan, who looked quite disgruntled at being ignored, if not at the carnival in general.  
“It’s gotta be them! Those frilly foreigners must be the ones behind all this werewolf business! Why else would they be actin’ so suspicious? Why I oughtta-”  
“Mr. Flannigan, if you could please contain yourself a moment…” Saman said, grabbing the old man by the shoulder before he could storm off to the two men. “I think it would be best to let the two finish before we harass them. Whether they are involved or not, it would be best to be respectful and give off good impression, yes?”  
“Ah...yer probably right. Guess we'll just wait around here in the meantime…”  
“Um, if you would like, I can try to ask the horses outside if they've seen anything.” Bryn said. “I have the ability to speak with animals for a short time, and they might know something useful.”  
“Good idea missy! It's wortha shot!” Said the old man, ushering the party (sans Melcha) out of the tent.  
As the party approached the half dozen horses tied up outside of the tent, Bryn cast the ability to cast animals onto herself. 10 minutes would likely be enough time to get the information they needed. Anwin, who had been left tied up near them, seemed to be staying as far away from them as physically possible, which was somewhat concerning. He almost looked annoyed, but brightened up as Naivera approached him for some head pats.  
“Hello horses, my name is Bryn and I am a traveler. Would you all mind answering a few questions for me?”  
The horses erupted into a chorus of “Hello Bryn”’s, in varying degrees of enthusiasm.  
“Have any of you happened to see anything strange around here lately? Has there been any kind of trouble? Especially at night, we’re on the lookout for a werewolf.”  
A brown horse with a white spot on his eye was the one to speak up “Well, I don’t know what a ware wolve is, but Barty’s got fleas. Happened right after we got here.”  
“I see…that’s quite unfortunate, but I was more so asking if you had seen any kind of animal? Some kind of unusual creature maybe?” These horses didn’t seem too bright...  
“Ohhhhhhh, now I get it!” Said the brown horse. “I saw some weird flying things last night, it was like a bird, but it’s wings were all funky.”  
“I think what you saw was a bat, which is great and all, but did you happen to see anything...larger?”  
The brown horse hung it's head in thought, waiting a moment before responding. “Well, I did see a big hairy thing. I can't tell ya if it was late last night or early this morning though. Didn't get a good look at it though, it was too fast.” A few other horses mumbled in agreement at this, it didn't seem as if anyone had seen anything else.  
“That sounds quite promising, thanks for the information everyone! Oh and Barty, I hope your uh, fleas clear up soon.”  
The horses responded with another chorus of “Bye Bryn!”. As she and the others made to re-enter the tent, Bryn summarized what she learned.  
“It seems they did indeed see something like a werewolf then.” Saman said. “Fortunate for them it seems they were not the intended target, but it seems they were not smart enough to be afraid of it in the first place.”  
It appeared as if the two men had finished their conversation while the rest of the party talked with the horses, as the older man noticed them and made to approach as soon as they entered the tent.  
“Hello travelers! My name is Stanmir, and I am the ringmaster of our little carnival. I apologize for not welcoming you sooner, I was just talking to my son Rotka here.” Stanmir said, gesturing to his son, who had followed him over. “I am afraid we don't begin our usual festivities until four o'clock, but please feel free to explore our shops and make merry until then!”  
“While we appreciate the offer, we are actually here on business.” Saman said, quickly butting in before old man Flannigan had a chance to say anything to the contrary. “We have been hired by this old man here to investigate a series of werewolf sightings around Melchor as of late. As ringmaster, would you happen to have any information on these sightings?”  
Stanmir and Rotka seemed to stiffen somewhat at the mention of werewolves. Stanmir looked around cautiously, as if checking whether or not anyone had heard what Saman said, and Rotka simply scowled.  
“By all means, we do not wish to disrupt or upset you folks at all…” Saman started, noting the shift the mention of werewolves brought.  
“No, no it’s quite alright.” Stanmir said, stepping in closer to the party and lowering his voice. “I can tell you what I know, though I am afraid it isn’t much.”  
“I’ve heard rumors of werewolves in the woods to the North West, but none of us have encountered them personally, we’ve only been here a week or so after all. About two days ago, Rotka here found what seemed to be werewolf tracks heading in the direction of those woods, but none of us attempted to follow them. I am afraid that if you wish to know anymore about us or these werewolves, I will have to ask that we step into a more private area of the tent...but that can wait a moment, can’t it?” He said, brightening somewhat.  
“Please, take your time and feel free to look around and talk to the lovely folks here, just try not to mention the werewolves if you would be so kind...we don’t want to cause any unnecessary panic. I’ll be waiting in the far corner of the tent, around the fire. Join whenever you please, it will take some time for me to get everything prepared.”  
With that, both Stanmir and Rotka bid the party farewell and set off towards the far corner, leaving the party to their devices for a time.  
“Well...I suppose we oughta to do as he says for the time being, let's meet back up at the fire in 20 minutes.” Old man Flannigan said, eyeing the two men as they walked away. “Keep on your guard though, I still can't say I trust these dang carnies...”  
“Oh! That reminds me, I ought to pay you folks now before I forget.” He then began to shuffle through his coin purse, trying to mentally ration the gold out. “Since the red feller and the monk lady don't want any payment, ah can give about 150 to each of you three and the purple girlie when she comes back. I don't exactly know where she disappeared off to…”  
At that moment, Melcha quite literally popped out from nowhere, suddenly next to the old man, who jumped at her “Right here!”. It seemed as if she had been present for the entire conversation with Stanmir, though no one had any idea where the fuck she managed to hide in such an open tent. Old man Flannigan dolled out his payment to the 4 accepting travelers, choosing to stay where he was until they were needed by the fire as to avoid whatever curse he thought this carnival had.  
Most of the others milled about on their own, but Naivera immediately made a beeline towards the merchants. She liked to think she was good at judging whether or not she was being lied to, and as far as she could tell, the two men were telling the truth. There was almost certainly information they were withholding from them, but they didn't appear to do it out of malice, which was enough for her standards.  
Once reaching the lineup of merchants, Naivera set her sights on a small stall lined with shimmering purple fabric, manned by a kindly but cryptic looking old lady. Perfect. Cryptic old folks always had the best stuff.  
“Hello there young miss!” The shopkeeper said as Naivera approached. “Would you like to take a look at my wares?”  
“Yes, if you please. By any chance, do you happen to have any strange, magical objects for sale?” Naivera had always had a fondness for collecting little magical trinkets, and now had the freedom to do so without her mother knowing how much she was spending. Should she be spending this money on something more useful for werewolf hunting? Probably, but she knew herself well enough to know that wasn't happening.  
“Why yes, I actually specialize in magical items! Hmmm….for you I have…” She said, bending down and shuffling through several boxes before pulling out a little black box with gold trim. It was quite cute. “Ah, this looks like it’ll suit you fine. This here is an enchanted music box. If you dance while having this box somewhere on your body, it’ll play by itself! It's also said that it's music is enchanting, and enhances the abilities of those who dance with it…”  
“I’ll take it.” Naivera said, slapping her hands down on the merchant’s table.  
“Eh heh heh...you sure know what you want, that'll be 60 gold pieces!”  
“You've got yourself a deal.” Naivera paid the woman and pocketed the box, looking around at several of the other stalls before making her way back to the entrance, where some of the group had gathered. Within a few minutes their party had reformed.  
It was then that Saman felt a tingling sensation at the edge of his mind. He was familiar enough with magic to know the sensation meant someone had attempted to probe him with a suggestion. Of course, he was also wise enough to not allow himself to be probed...though he was quite sure it had been done by Stanmir, as he seemed to be the only one around with the ability to do so. He turned to look for the man, and found him approaching them.  
“Everything is prepared...if you would all please join me around the fire...I have a story to tell you all that will hopefully shed some light on our...situation.”

  
And with that, they all followed him. Outside, the sun rose higher into the sky on what seemed to be a pleasant Saturday afternoon.

  
~

**Author's Note:**

> And that's chapter one! I tried to give everyone a turn on the perspective juice so I could get better at writing them and so you can get an idea of everyone's personalities and characteristics off the bat. Next time, the gang will be heading into Barovia, whether they realize it or not!


End file.
